In Which I Kidnap Blue From Dick Figures
by CommanderLouise
Summary: Blue gets kidnapped by a psychopathic stalker with a love of physical and emotional torture. In fact, she's been watching his life closely, so that each chapter includes a new torture based on something from every episode of the show! Also, what happened to Red? Was he really murdered? Rated M for torture/rape. Was gonna be black comedy, but is leaning more toward sadistic angst.
1. The Net

Hey, so it's September 27th, 2015 at just about 3 AM and I quite possibly am just about to make the worst fanfiction decision of my life. So I like _Dick Figures_. So I also like brutal, sadistic kidnapping scenarios. So I also like Marysues. So what if I made a Marysue and then she kidnapped Blue from _Dick Figures_? Don't want to read that? Whoa, surprise, surprise, neither does anybody, probably. Oops, oh no, ohhhh nooo, I'm posting it, ohhh! Noooo, here it goes, it's going on the internet, ohhh nooooooooo... Ooops I'm hitting "publish" oh noooooo.

* * *

Blue woke up in a strange room with no furniture.

"Hello, Blue," I said, entering the room in style.

"What?" said Blue.

"Knock knock. Who's there? Se-"

"Stop. Stop. Stop. Who are you?"

"I," I said, "am a lonely woman who wants to be with you."

"Oh. Heh. Alright, well, I mean-"

"And," I said, "I am going to capture you right. The fuck. Now!"

"...Oh, well... Uhh. Cool, okay, so I'm gonna leave-"

" _You can't leave; I am literally going to take you_."

Blue turned around and noticed there was no door. "...Red...?"

"Red is dead; I killed him!."

"Wh...?" He laughed slightly, as though Red was not, in fact, dead.

" _He's actually dead! I actually killed your best friend!_ "

Blue backed up slightly and tried to feel the wall for some secret button that would open a door. Failing this, he made a dash for the door I had just entered. I threw a fucking net over him so that he was trapped.

Blue looked at me through the net. "Is—Is this gonna be really creepy? Wait, it's already kind of really creepy." He fidgeted in the net. "H-help...?" The gravity of the situation began to set in, as I began to tie him up. "H-help?! HELP-"

I dragged him down a hallway toward a closet and stuffed him in there. His muffled screams could be heard through the door.

"Heeeelp! Help me, Jesus Christ!"

I banged on the door for no reason. "Shut up in there!"

"Jesus, somebody help me, oh God!"

I sat against the door. "Remember that time when you and Red were standing in the street and he swallowed that bee and his voice got autotuned? That was a good time, huh?"

"How do you know about that?"

"I watched you. I've been watching you from the beginning. And now you are mine," I said, with a gleam in my eye.

I was an average-looking stick woman with some titties and a skirt, as per usual. I probably had eyelashes or some shit. My color was rainbow or some fucked-up bullshit like that.

"My name is Rain," I said. "Because I'm rainbow."

"Fuck you, that's so stupid, and also let me out right now!"

"I kinda like to think of myself as the embodiment of a rainbow, you know?"

"Ohhhh my gooodddd, somebody help me."

"Like... I feel like rainbows _understand me_."

"Oh god."

"I was probably born under a rainbow."

"Jesus Christ, I'm gonna shoot myself."

"Not before I do everything I want to you," I said.

"Wh—what's that supposed to mean?"

I leaned way up close to the crack beneath the door, and whispered, "Probably gross stuff."

"Gross like... hot-gross? Or...?"

"Gross-gross," I said.

"Oh. Oh God. _Oh God somebody help me!_ "

The walls were sound-proofed.

* * *

Maybe more chapters coming? Oh no. Sorry for this. God, in keeping with the spirit of things, I should just only write this at three AM. Oh wait, no, I have things to do in the morning so I shouldn't keep staying up this late. Maybe just 3 AM on Saturday nights.


	2. Every Way

Okay, Chapter 2 oh no. Oh right yeah by the way there are probably gonna be POV shifts all over this story.

* * *

Blue woke up in the small closet at God knows what hour. He felt cold, because Rain had left the air conditioning on or some shit. He could not see much, because the only light was coming from the cracks at the top and bottom of the locked door. From the light, he could make out the details of the carpet he was sitting on, and the slightly grainy texture of the ceiling, and what looked like a light bulb. He tried to stand and turn the light bulb on, but the string ended up being too short for him to reach with his mouth. He sat back down.

There was a knock at the door maybe an hour later.

"Hello, Blue, how was your sleep?"

Blue sighed. "Okay, can we stop this now? Can I like... go home and have this not happen anymore?"

"Don't be silly. This is indefinite!"

Blue groaned and banged his head against the wall he was leaning on. In his head he was already planning on what to tell the police, but he had seen far worse.

Rain hit the door once more. "Come on, I have breakfast for you!"

"Ughh, whatever, just get me out of this closet."

Rain unlocked the door and opened it. The light was bright and made Blue squint momentarily. Rather than untie him, she just dragged him out of the closet, still bound. He fought this, attempting to either escape or just walk himself. Rain slapped him in the face.

"Ow!"

"Haha. You get slapped a lot, don't you, friend?"

"I'm not your friend."

Rain continued to drag Blue across the floor until they arrived at a kitchen table. She sat him up on the table and proceeded to tie him to the chair.

"Is this really necessary?" he mumbled.

"Yes, because I don't want you fighting back."

He groaned again as she tripled the tight knots around his hands.

"That's too tight," he said.

"That's too bad," she replied.

It wasn't long before he began to lose sensation in his small hands. He didn't say anything, but instead tried to wiggle his way out of the ropes. He wondered if Red would come to save him, or if his friend was even able to focus long enough to notice he was missing. He then remembered what Rain had said about his friend.

Surely he couldn't really be dead.

He shook the thought out of his mind, in time to notice that Rain had placed a large, badly-decorated cake in front of him.

"...What is this?"

Rain hummed the happy birthday song.

"What are you doing?"

"Happy birthday to you," she sang. "Happy birthday from Blue."

"Oh God."

Rain smiled. "Take a bite."

"My hands are tied."

"You still have a face, silly."

Blue narrowed his eyes. "It's poisoned."

"Don't be ridiculous; I want you alive."

He hesitated. She slapped him again.

"Eat it," she said firmly.

He grimaced, and leaned forward, putting his mouth to the cake. He took a small bite and chewed. It tasted pretty normal.

"Swallow," she said.

He did.

"Keep eating it," she said.

He kept eating it.

Rain turned around and opened a drawer in the kitchen. She removed a small tape recorder and placed it on the table. She pressed play as Blue ate.

Rain's voice emerged from the tape. There was the sound of un-crinkling paper. "Read this."

"No."

Blue stopped for a minute. The voice was Red's voice.

"Read it," said the tape recorder.

"No," said Red's voice.

There was a loud thumping sound. "Ahh!" said Red. Another thump. Blue winced at the disproportionately loud thumps. "Stop! Stop!" said Red's voice. Blue sat there in horror, forgetting the cake, forgetting his ropes. This didn't sound like his best friend. Well, it did. Voice-wise, it sounded exactly like Red. It was definitely his friend's voice. But the voice was unsettling and... He searched for a word in his head. The voice was _tamed_. Broken. There didn't seem to be much of a will left in his once vivacious, capable-of-anything friend.

There was a slight tremor in Blue's voice now. "What did you do to him?"

"Just listen and eat your cake," said Rain.

Blue took another bite of cake and chewed, since there was nothing else in his power to do. He listened. A weird sound started coming out of the tape recorder.

Crying?

Oh God, Red was crying.

He spat out the cake. "What the fuck did you do to him?!"

Rain took a fork and slashed it across Blue's face. He yelped. She slashed him with the fork again, in the same spot. Then she dug it into the sensitive skin right next to his eyelids. He started to scream.

"Don't question me," she said. "Just eat your goddamn cake."

He took another bite, shaking now, listening to his best friend cry through a tape recorder.

Red's voice stammered: "I-I-I love you. Let's grow old together in—every—way."

"No," said Blue. "No, no."

"...Every way."

"No. Oh God." Blue looked at the cake again and felt like he was going to throw up. He was seated, but he felt a weird vertigo.

"Eat it," said Rain. She reached over and pressed rewind on the tape recorder, and it started whirring.

"No, please," said Blue.

"Eat," she said. She pressed play.

"I love you. Let's grow old together in every way."

"No, please,"

"I love you. Let's grow old together in every way."

"You're not eating," said Rain.

"I-I can't."

She placed her hands on the back of his head, leaving the tape recorder to keep playing. She forced his head down, and he fought, but she kept forcing his head down, and the tape recorder continued:

"Say it again, Red."

"...Fuck you."

Screaming.

"Say it again, fucker."

"Oh-oh-okay, okay, please-"

"You're not saying it."

Screaming.

"I love you, let's grow old together in every way."

Sobbing.

Blue's face made contact with the cake again, and he involuntarily tasted the food. It was sweet, tasted like every other birthday cake he had ever eaten. He vomited right there. She continued to push his face into the cake, and he closed his eyes tight so that he wouldn't get vomit in his eyes. He tried to turn his head sideways so he could breathe, but she forced it completely into the vomit-cake mixture. He felt himself starting to suffocate. Finally she let him go and he began panting, feeling the wetness all over his face, the stomach acid burning his skin.

She wiped his face with a napkin with balloons on it and grinned. She kissed Blue's mouth. He bit her tongue. She took the fork again and dug it into his collarbone and he yelled in pain.

"If you're gonna keep doing that," she said quietly, "you get to live in the basement."

She dragged him to a doorway as he fought inside his rope cocoon, and she opened the door and tossed his body down the stairs. He tried to stop from falling all the way down, but he couldn't, and his head bumped the railway and the stair corners and finally the floor. She walked down the stairs and pressed a foot against his head, squeezing his cheeks and forcing him to smell the horrendous floor.

"Enjoy yourself in here," she said. She did not untie him.


	3. The Best Video Game Ever Released

Chapter 3! God, I'm writing this really fast. It'll probably slow down, though, once I lose significant interest.

* * *

Blue woke up hungry. He had not eaten anything in maybe twenty-four hours, maybe more. He could not really move, as he was still tied up. His arms and hands tingled because he still had scratchy rope tied tightly around his limbs, and it had been cutting off blood flow for hours. He was sore, as well, from having slept on the hard, cemented basement floor. He was cold, as well.

The place smelled musty, and dust and dirt was everywhere. It was probably filled with mold. He coughed from the thick air going in and out of his lungs.

He had no idea what time it was, as the basement was windowless and dark. There was one nightlight plugged into a corner, illuminating the room slightly so that he could make out certain shapes on shelves. Teddy bears, creepy shit. He squirmed around and looked for something sharp he could use to cut the ropes, but he couldn't see well and ultimately found nothing. For a while he tried to rub the ropes against the corner of a shelf, but this proved useless.

How long had he been here? How long had he been out? It occurred to him that Rain could have put something into the cake to drug him, but then he wondered if there even would have been a purpose for that. He squirmed his way to the stairs and attempted to climb them to get to the door, and after a while he managed with great effort to get to the top of the staircase and jiggle the door handle with his teeth, but the door was locked.

He sat, rested his head against the door for a bit, then slowly scooted back down the stairs, coming to rest in the middle of the floor again. He rested like this for a little while, but realized he felt exposed, so he scooted to a wall, sat up, and rested his head against the wall.

How much longer was this going to last?

An indeterminable amount of time went by, and he heard the door open.

"Bluueeee!" Rain sang.

"Ugh, what?"

"Time for another day!"

"Yeah, no shit," he said. He was exhausted.

"I have a surprise for you!"

"Fuck."

"You like video games, right, Blue?"

"Fuck you, I already hate what you're trying to make me do today."

Rain was silent for a minute. "Don't talk to me that way."

Blue didn't respond.

"Blue. Respond."

Blue remained quiet, his eyes shut, trying to make this not be reality.

He didn't hear her descend the stairs, but was vaguely aware of her presence getting closer. In a few moments, her voice was by the side of his face.

"Blue. Respond."

He didn't.

She took hold of his cheek and squeezed.

"Ow. Owww!"

She didn't let go. He pulled away, forcing her fingers to release his face, but then she took hold of his head and bit his cheek, pressing her teeth into his skin. He screamed as she bit down harder and harder, and tears came to his eyes. He tried to lean away, but he couldn't get very far from her body since he was tied up and rather weak. She released his cheek, but then bit down again on the corner of his lip, with her two front teeth digging into the inside of his mouth and her bottom teeth scraping the outside. He screamed louder, scared to pull away because he didn't want to tear his own mouth. She bit and began to chew, and he felt blood gush from his inner cheek and fill his mouth with a warm, salty taste. Finally he gave up on trying to pull away and just lay still, hoping she would stop and let his mouth free. She chewed on his wound for another minute, and he could feel her sucking on his mouth, drinking up the blood. Finally she let go and stopped biting, pulling her face away from his.

Tears were streaming down his face from the pain. Blood began to escape his lips and drip down his chin.

"Why-" he began, but talking hurt and he winced.

She chuckled. "That was for being a smart ass," she said. "No more of that, okay?"

He didn't want to move his mouth, so he just nodded his head, afraid to look at her.

She turned on a light in a corner of the basement, revealing the full shape of a TV screen, and then she came back and dragged him over to the TV. She set him up on wooden chair and procured more ropes, which she used to secure his back, his neck, and his legs to the chair. He wondered why she was doing this until she untied only his hands.

He looked at her questioningly, but she didn't look back because she was digging around behind the TV. She pulled out and dusted off a console, then reached behind the TV again and picked up what looked like a case for a video game. She put it in his hands.

It was a bootleg copy of Flame War: Attack of the Trolls.

"Remember this?" she said. "You fought through a store full of people to get this game so you could play it with Red, remember?"

He nodded.

"Play it for me," she said.

What was that supposed to mean? She wanted to watch him play the game? She took the case from him and opened it, then placed the disc into the console and turned it on.

The familiar game showed up on the screen. He hadn't played it in a while. She handed him a controller and said, "Play it."

Not knowing what else to do at this point, he played the game. It was a strange sensation, one part of his brain engaging in something so familiar and another part thinking about the pain in his face and the ropes around his body. His hands were only released up to just around the wrists, so he couldn't put them up to his face to wipe the blood off. This was distracting. He made a mistake and his character got hit.

Something hit the back of his head, hard. He cried out. Despite the state of his mouth, he said, "What the fuck?!"

He twisted his head around as well as he could to see Rain standing behind him with a ping pong paddle. "Restart the game," she said.

He looked at the screen, then back at her, then restarted the game. The opening music began again and he played once more. He got a little further into the level, but then took some damage from an enemy.

She whacked the back of his head once more, then turned the console off, then on again.

"Come on," she said, "you're good at this. You can do it perfectly. Don't get hit."

The opening music. He played a little way into the level, but his hands were shaking, so he got hit.

Thwack. Console off.

The opening music. He managed to get to the second level, but at the beginning of level two, he got attacked and took damage.

She dug the handle of the ping pong paddle into his wounded cheek.

"Aaghh!" He tried to turn his head away but she grasped it again and dug harder.

"Play it again," she said.

Console off. Console on. Opening music.

He tried to play level one but took damage right away.

This time his view of the screen was obstructed partially by her body. She took the paddle, opened his mouth with one thumb, and shoved the handle of the paddle into his mouth, causing him to gag. She found the cheek wound on the inside and dug it in, twisting it around and around. The handle had some splinters and a slightly rough surface. He felt more blood exit his skin and go down his throat. He tried to cry out "stop" but instead just gagged more at the touch of the paddle to the back of his tongue. She let the paddle handle go into the back of his throat, and he dry-heaved, his stomach empty save for some bile. She pulled the handle out of his mouth and said, "Play it again."

"No," he murmured. "No, please, no..."

She turned the console off and back on.

Opening music. He beat level one. He died right away at level two.

She punched him hard in the dick. His body tried to double over, but his movements were restricted by the ropes. She punched his dick again, then jammed the paddle handle firmly into his crotch. He felt white-hot pain shoot through his groin and pelvis, and before it could subside she punched him again, repeatedly. She hit his face. She hit the pit of his stomach. He gasped for air.

"Play it again."

He tried to play it once more, and died shortly into level one, and so she spat on his face and whacked him across the cheek with the paddle again. She turned the console off and then on.

Opening music. They did this for another hour and a half. He kept waiting for her to get bored and move on, but she wouldn't. She was relentless. By the end of the session, he was bruised and cut and beaten like he had never been in his life thus far. Finally she untied him from the chair and threw his miserable body against the cold, hard floor once again, climbed the stairs, and closed and locked the cellar door.

Once he was alone, he began to cry. He cried in a way he had never cried before, of exhaustion and pain and fear and hunger, of pure terror for his life and for the life of his best friend. He still didn't know for sure if Red had really been killed, but at this point he didn't put it past her, and his tears needed no immediate confirmation in order to fall. He sobbed for what seemed like forever, light-headed with fear, until his body gave out and he passed out from shock.


	4. Classical

I have been writing a lot of these.

* * *

I sauntered into the basement in a long, sexy dress with sparkles as though I was Jessica Rabbit and said, "Hey, baby."

Blue looked up at me. He was still in his flattering rope suit. "Please let me go," he said.

"Nope!" Instead of letting him go, I said, "You hungry?"

He didn't answer, but I could tell by his facial expression and also the context of the situation that he must be.

"You're hungry, aren't you?" I said again.

He just looked up at me with a weakened expression and then looked away.

"How's that canker sore?" I said.

This time he glared. I had, after all, bitten pretty hard. It was probably infected. He probably had a gigantic sore, hardly qualifying as "canker" at all.

"So. You're hungry."

"...Yes," he admitted, still glaring.

"Awesome! Let's get you some lunch, shall we?"

I danced back up the stairs and came back down with my carrying case.

"What... is that?" he said.

I threw it at him. He nudged the case with his head until he could see the netted opening.

"Is that... a turtle...?" he said, staring at my live turtle.

"Not just any turtle," I said. "It's your lunch!"

"Uhh... No thanks."

"Oh, you're not hungry? Okay, then, you don't have to eat anything, and you can go back to lying here alone."

"That would be preferable," he mumbled.

I took hold of the carrying case and whacked him the fuck across the head with the turtle.

"Ow!" he said. "What the fuck?! That's a live animal!"

"Aaaaand too bad," I said. I dropped the turtle back onto the floor. "So," I said. "Give me your feet."

"What?"

I took hold of his cute feet and cut the ropes off of them. Then I dragged him to a portion of the wall with chains and cuffs bolted to it, and locked the metal cuffs around his ankles and his thighs and hips so that he couldn't escape. He didn't fight back much, probably because he was so hungry. It had been a few days.

I then untied his upper body, leaving his legs still bound together. Speaking of things "being a few days," he smelled pretty bad. It occurred to me that I had not untied him to let him use the bathroom, ever.

"Have you pissed yourself?" I said brightly.

He looked mortified, and didn't seem to want to answer.

"It's okay," I said. "You couldn't help it." I stroked his cheek. "You lost control of your little body. Just like anyone would." He turned his face away. "Why do you always turn your face from me, huh?" I scratched the top of his head lovingly. "Here, let's make your lunch."

I finished untying his hands, and allowed him to move his upper body freely for a second. He took a minute to comprehend what was happening, then frantically began trying to untie the ropes around his waist, but I kicked him violently in the head. He didn't stop. I stomped his face into the concrete floor. He tried to grab at my ankles but I backed away and kicked the turtle's case toward him.

"Open it," I instructed.

He stared at it hazily for a minute, then opened the case and pulled out the scared turtle, which had pulled itself into its shell. I went to a drawer and pulled out a butter knife and tossed it to him. He picked it up.

"Wh...?"

"I sharpened it for you," I said. It was true; I had put the butter knife to a knife sharpener, and it was now slightly more functional for the job at hand.

He stared at the knife for a few seconds, looking at its awkward, jagged edges, then back at the turtle.

"Slaughter her," I said.

"W-with a butter knife?"

"Go ahead. She's your lunch. Slaughter her for me! I'll watch."

"But I-"

"You've killed a turtle before, right?"

He thought. "You mean that thing on the freeway that time? You saw that? How-"

"You killed him, so you can kill her, too," I said, gesturing to the animal.

"Oh come on," he groaned.

"Go ahead. Oh, and don't bother trying to cut the ropes. You're chained up, after all."

"I know that," he said.

"I just figured I'd remind you."

He grimaced, then slowly took the butter knife and picked up the turtle again, as though trying to think of the quickest way to end her life.

"Oh! Wait! I forgot," I said. I went upstairs and grabbed a boombox, then came back down with it. "Some music to relax you."

I pressed play and Pachelbel's Canon started playing.

"Ohh God," he said. "Oh God, please, not this song. Not classical."

I smiled. "Please, there's nothing bad about classical."

He put his head down. "No, no, no, I loved this song."

"Kill her," I said.

"Kill _me,_ " he whimpered.

"Not gonna happen," I said. "A reminder. I won't stop playing this song until you've killed and eaten the turtle."

"I have to eat it raw?!"

"Well, it's not like there's an oven down here."

"Oh, God, I'm gonna throw up."

"Please, there's nothing in you, anyway." I smiled. "Not even water, obviously."

"Fuck you!"

I sat down a little way past the point where he might be able to reach me. "Oh, by the way," I said. "Throw that knife at me and I'll bring out my collection of bamboo splinters, okay?"

He shuddered and proceeded to look at the turtle once more. He gulped and took the knife up again and stared at her. Slowly, slowly, he placed the knife against her neck and began trying to saw at it.

The turtle winced in pain and withdrew her head. He tried pulling the head back out, but she bit him and he retracted his hand, dropping the knife and swearing. He picked up the knife once more and murmured something to himself that I couldn't hear, paused, and then jabbed the knife's poorly-sharpened tip into the turtle's head-hole. He did this several times, and then blood started to come out of the shell. He stabbed and stabbed, and Pachelbel's Canon played, adding beautifully composed layers on and on, and the turtle's legs could be seen wiggling in pain inside the shell if you looked closely. When we were both fairly sure the turtle was dead, I handed him an ice pick and a mallet and said, "Crack her shell."

He didn't say anything, but instead just took the tools and began trying to break the belly of the shell. He did this for a while until some progress was shown, and then he reached into the break in the belly with both hands and began trying to pry it apart. No luck. He hammered the belly in more places until he had significant bloody cracks, and then he pried it apart again, this time managing to open a chunk. Guts spilled everywhere.

"Eat her," I said.

He shook his head.

I took the mallet and hammered one of his legs, and he screamed, and then he picked up the shell with shaky hands and began trying to suck the blood and guts out of the body. He managed to get a good chunk in his mouth and then chewed and tore parts off and swallowed. I watched him eat the turtle for a while. It was transfixing, really.

"Eat her until the shell is empty," I said.

He obeyed. I was beginning to break him very well. He ate and ate until the shell was filled with nothing alive or dead.

When he was done, he was shaking. The song, which I had put on repeat, stopped abruptly at the touch of my finger. I took the shell away from him and picked up the boombox and kicked the tools far out of reach, to the other end of the room. I began to climb the stairs.

"Have a good rest of your day," I said, leaving him chained to the wall.


	5. You Don't Exist

I can't believe I posted 4 chapters in a day. Here's chapter 5. Whoa, it's the next day.

* * *

Blue sat chained to the wall, staring into space. He could barely think.

Doorbell.

He looked up, startled.

There was another doorbell sound.

He scooted as close to the cellar stairs as he could, given the chains.

He heard the muffled sounds of speaking.

"Officer, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh God," Blue muttered. There was a policeman here. "Help!" he yelled. "Help!"

"Ma'am, if you'll just let me take a look downstairs-"

"Please, Officer, I understand that it's your job, but-"

"Ma'am, I have a search warrant for your home, so if you'll just allow me to step in..."

Blue was in no mood to waste time and began to scream. "Help! Help me, oh God! Help, I-I'm down here!" The muffled voices upstairs continued, uninterrupted. "I'm in the cellar!" he screamed.

"Ma'am, please refrain from touching me or I will have to arrest you."

"Officer, please-"

The cellar door handle jiggled. Blue continued to scream. The policeman was apparently fumbling with the lock, but at last it was opened. He stepped down the stairs. Blue saw the shoes first, then the blue uniform, then the man's face, mustached, wearing a hat. Blue convulsed with tears of joy.

"Ohh, God, Officer, thank God you're here. I-I-I don't know how long I've been here, and... I..."

The policeman didn't respond, but looked directly at Blue. Then he looked away.

"S-sir?" said Blue.

The policeman walked to the other side of the room, as though he needed to inspect something about the TV. He bent down and brushed for fingerprints on the console.

"O-officer? Officer, I'm here. I'm right here. I- Sir, hello...?"

The officer collected a few more samples from around the room, taking his time, being careful. He turned back to face Blue, stepped toward him slowly.

"Please," said Blue. "Please talk to me."

The policeman looked in Blue's direction, knelt down, then reached behind him to touch the place where the chains were bolted to the wall. For a minute Blue thought he might try to free him, but instead the officer jiggled the chains for a minute, and began brushing them for prints, as well.

"Officer, hey. I'm right here. Sir..." Blue, frustrated, took hold of the officer's shirt and began to pull at it. "I-I'm touching you! Sir! Sir, I'm right here! Sir!"

The policeman finished brushing for prints and stepped away.

"Sir? S-sir...? P-p-please..."

The policeman made his way back up the stairs.

Blue began to scream once more. "Sir! Officer!" The policeman reached the top of the staircase and his shoes disappeared from Blue's vision. Blue began to sob. "Officer! Look at me, you fuck!"

The door closed. Blue crumpled to the floor. He heard the officer upstairs inform Rain that he had collected some possible evidence and she may or may not be hearing from court. Blue fell into a sobbing mess.

Upstairs, Rain paid the prostitute.

"Thanks for dressing up for my husband. He's into weird stuff like this."

Hours later, Rain descended the staircase and kicked a sleeping Blue in the face. He woke and looked up at her. She smiled at him. "Have any good dreams?"

Blue put his head back down on the floor and tried to pretend she didn't exist.


	6. Waking Up Many Times

Chapter 6, everybody. Still no one has read this thing except me, I think. That's perfectly okay.

* * *

Rain set clocks all around Blue. She wound them.

Blue looked at the set up drearily. He was still chained to the wall, and he was wondering when she would become bored of having him chained to the wall so he could stop having chains on him. He still had ropes on, as well as chains, all the way down his lower half. He didn't speak to her, and she didn't speak to him. All she did was dutifully wind clocks and set them in different places around him. She eventually left the room.

Blue did what he usually did when she was gone: drifted off into a sad sleep. His dreams were fuzzy and weak, due to the lack of food and water. It seemed his brain couldn't cook much up for his subconscious to watch.

His body jolted awake some time later to the sound of a sudden, ridiculously loud ringing sound. It took him a minute to open his eyes and figure out what was going on. When his vision gained focus, he saw that one of the clocks—an old-fashioned alarm clock—was vibrating and emitting a perfect, jarring noise. He tried to reach out and turn it off, but it was just out of his reach.

"No, come on, fucker," he mumbled, still half asleep. He reached with all his might for the pesky clock, but his hands simply couldn't grasp it. He groaned, his brain not fully awake. He tried to lie there and tolerate the sound, but it was entirely too obnoxious, and what was left of his ability to think was slowly draining away in the presence of the noise. "Stop, stop," he moaned.

He stared at the ceiling. "Rain! Turn off the fucking clock!" No answer. "Rain-!"

Another godforsaken clock went off, this time a cuckoo clock. "No, no, no," he mumbled. He put his hands against his head, trying to muffle the noise, but it was no use. A minute later, a different clock went off, playing a lullaby. He grasped at them hopelessly. All of them were out of his reach.

More and more of them went off, one by one, at random intervals. None of them stopped ringing. Blue began to scream, louder and louder, trying to drown out the sound. He cried out for it to stop, for one of the clocks to fucking break, but it didn't work, of course, and they all kept ringing. They rang for maybe an hour before Rain came down the stairs.

"Turn the fucking clocks off, you bitch!"

"Now, that's no way to speak to me."

"Please. Please turn the clocks off."

"That's better."

One by one, she switched off the clocks, and there was silence yet again. Blue breathed a sigh of pure relief. Rain pulled up a chair and sat and watched him.

Blue tried to ignore her. He lay there, appreciating the silence for what it was. Slowly, he felt exhaustion set in again, and he found himself beginning to fall asleep. He hadn't had his eyes closed for long, when he felt a slap on his forehead.

"Fucking-"

"Wake up," said Rain.

He squeezed his eyelids shut, not wanting to deal with her right now. Slowly his body relaxed, and she watched him as he fell back into sleep, and then she kicked him in the head. He started awake with a gasp.

"P-please don't do this," he said.

She smiled at him. "What? Wake you up? What, you want me to leave you alone?"

He nodded, hatred in his expression.

"Ahh, well, if I must." She got up, scooted the chair back, and left the basement.

Blue slowly fell asleep again.

He had been asleep maybe thirty minutes when he heard another loud noise. He opened his eyes. It was a horrifically cheesy cell phone ring tone, complete with canned instruments playing the score. He looked around, followed the source of light and sound to a vibrating phone on the floor. Rain's phone? It was plugged into an outlet in the wall. He reached for it, but, again, it was out of his grasp.

"Please turn off," he said. "Please, please turn off."

It kept going, loudly, for another fifteen minutes, before finally switching itself off.

"Ohh, thank God."

Blue settled back down and tried to sleep once more.

The phone went off again, about five minutes later.

"Ohhh, dear Lord."

It took another fifteen minutes to silence itself again.

This happened about seven more times over the span of an hour, each with a different amount of time between alarms. Blue lay there, beginning to give up on sleep. How many alarms had she set?

As it turned out, she had set the alarms to go off over the span of twenty-four hours, with unguessable intervals in between them. Sometimes they let him sleep for forty-five minutes, sometimes only five. She apparently had them timed to never let him sleep for a full hour at a time. He felt himself beginning to go insane. He felt waves of anxiety spike between alarms, pure emotional agony filling him during the actual song. It, of course, was the same song every time.

This went on for roughly two days, before the alarms stopped suddenly. Blue sat, waiting for another one to come. In the silence, he felt his stomach turn. Could it be she had not set any more alarms for a decent span of time? He waited an hour, and there were no alarms, and after two hours he felt his body finally drift back into precious sleep, finally relaxing enough to feel a slight amount of peace.

He dreamed of good food.

The dream went on for a short time, before he was awakened by a different sound.

Screaming. Screaming and sobbing.

His body tensed, and he opened his eyes and tried to sit up. He looked around. No one was there, but the phone was vibrating still. It took him a minute to fully comprehend what was happening.

She had recorded screaming and set it as the alarm.

He had no choice but to listen to the voice. He sat there trying to understand what felt so familiar about it when he realized in his dazed state of pain that it, yet again, was Red's voice.

Red was screaming. She had recorded his best friend screaming and crying into her phone.

He lay there, wide-eyed now. What could she have possibly done to him? In the background of the recording, he could hear something making hard contact with something. Was she hitting him? Red had been hit before; he could take that. He couldn't possibly be screaming just from being hit. What was she hitting him with? What was she doing to him?

He lay there and listened to the screams repeat themselves again and again, looping for fifteen minutes. Then they shut themselves off.

In the silence, he realized he was now panting, his heart rate elevated considerably. He felt sweat dripping down his forehead to his temples. His mouth was dry and the silence had a weird presence of its own, a yin to the yang of the noise. He waited for the sound to start again, but it didn't.

He began to fall asleep again. The noise started up again. He began to breathe faster, shorter breaths. It was the same screams, again and again. They stopped. They turned back on.

The screams went on for hours. Loud, piercing, penetrating everything in his brain. Stopping short, starting up again right as his eyes were beginning to close.

He began to scream, too, all over again. He tried to scream to match and surpass the screams of his friend, trying to cover Red's misery with his own. He screamed until he could feel his throat becoming raw.

Perhaps he listened to the screaming alarms for days. He lost track of how many times they went off, but it felt as though it was days. Perhaps a whole week. He did not get any sleep the entire time, just lay there hearing his friend cry out for help and mercy. By the end of the probable week, he was shaking, nauseated, seeing things out of the corners of his eyes. He was hearing what sounded like airplanes dipping in the air and flying low over his head.

By the time Rain removed the phone from the basement, Blue had mostly lost his ability to fall asleep.


	7. The Whole Loaf

Chapter 7, whoop whoop.

* * *

He had not slept in roughly two weeks. His body was constantly shaking. When he tried to sleep he just began to hallucinate shadows and screaming and planes over his head. He was nauseated and clammy. Rain had not come down for a while, except to occasionally bring him water and a small morsel of food. Perhaps she was growing bored of him? Perhaps she would soon leave him to die.

To be frank, his daydreams had begun to shift from "how to escape" into "how to commit suicide." He was beginning to lose hope for escaping. He was exhausted and just wanted it to be over. Even if he did escape, how would he even go on living after this kind of experience? He didn't know if he could even afford the therapy necessary to be functional again, much less work through it successfully. But at any rate, it was looking less and less likely that he would make it out of here alive. The chains were not the right length for him to choke himself. He had tried once.

While he was wondering if he could reach the shelf enough to scrape his wrists open on a corner, Rain came down once more. She carried with her—was it really—it was a loaf of bread, of the variety that was very long and very thin.

He stared at it. His stomach involuntarily made a loud noise.

She smiled. "It's a bit stale."

He continued to stare at it. She moved closer to him and broke off a piece and handed it to him. Without questioning it, he ate it. It was indeed hard and stale, but it still tasted like bread and his body needed it. He ate it voraciously and hoped for more.

She did in fact break off another piece and hand it to him, and he took it and ate it again. The picture in that moment was almost of a human-to-animal relationship: a woman kneeling down at the park to feed a particularly tame squirrel.

When he had finished his third piece, she said, "There's still a lot of it." He didn't answer, but just continued to stare at the bread. She smiled. "Think you can take the whole loaf?"

He wanted to nod and accept the bread, but he knew better at this point, so he just looked down and tried not to engage now.

"What's wrong?" she said. "It's food. You need food, right? You're probably starving!" She laughed at this, as though "starving" was an exaggeration used for the sake of friendly conversation. His stomach made another loud noise, and she laughed harder.

She stared at him for a good minute, then leaned toward him. She reached down and placed her hand on his face, and he flinched, because this never meant anything that wouldn't hurt. She stroked his cheek with a soft touch, then took the bread and brushed his lips with it. He considered trying to grab her ankles to make her fall, but what would that accomplish? It would only anger her, and on the off chance that it would knock her out, they'd both just be stuck down there until she woke up, and then she would be even more angry. So he lay there, benign, allowing her to brush the stale bread against his chapped lips.

She tore open his lips with her thumb and shoved the bread into his mouth.

He gagged and began to make noise through the bread. She pushed the hard, dry food deep in, past his lips, across his tongue, against his uvula. His stomach tried to vomit, but nothing came up except for some mucus. She pushed the bread deeper, past his uvula, making the tip of it scratch his esophagus. He couldn't breathe, and his body attempted to wheeze around the bread, but couldn't. His lungs contracted, feeling the pain of too much carbon dioxide, and his heart thumped against the inside of his chest, signaling imminent failure of the body to remain conscious.

Right as he was about to pass out, she removed the bread from his mouth, and he coughed and gasped for air. The stars in his vision began to clear, and his heart slowed down.

"Didn't fit," she said. "Ready to try again?"

"Nuh-n-no..."

She grabbed hold of his chin.

"No, no-"

In went the bread. It was slightly more soggy now, and pieces began to come off and land down his throat, making him want to cough. She pushed and pulled the bread in and out of his mouth, forcing it down his throat, pushing it harder and harder, scraping him up and cutting off his air supply once again. She removed the bread, again, right before he was about to lose consciousness. His face fell against the floor and he panted for oxygen.

She did it again, harder. She pulled it out again. He wheezed and tried to curl up into the fetal position.

She touched the tip of the rough, hard bread with her finger. "Slippery," she said, as though she was pondering this for the first time. She set the bread down on the filthy floor, out of his reach, then went to a drawer to pull out some more ropes. She began to tie up his hands, and secured his hands to a dresser a few feet away, and used more rope to gag his mouth.

She stepped behind him and cut the ropes off around his ass, and started to pull down his pants. He began to whimper through his rope gag, and shake his head, since he knew what was coming.

There was a moment of stillness, and then she reached down and placed a finger inside his asshole. He tensed up at the feeling, and his sphincter contracted, and she laughed: "I just barely stuck it in!" She took two fingers and stretched the opening, and then carefully inserted the thinner tip of the bread into his anus. It was not a good fit, and she had to work to get it to go in properly. He had not, after all, ever inserted anything up there before, save for a lubed-up candle once on a curious college afternoon. The scratching was even more unbearable to these sensitive insides, and he cried out louder. She did not stop, and slowly inserted the loaf deeper and deeper into his lower body. Then she began to thrust the bread in and out of him, harder and faster. Pieces began to break off once more, sticking themselves to the inside of his body. The cracked up crust made him bleed.

"Stop," he tried to say through his gag. "Stop, please stop." He tried to fight back tears, because he didn't want her to have the satisfaction of seeing him begin to cry. He managed to keep from crying for a time, but it took greater and greater strength, and he could feel the lump in his throat growing tighter. Small sounds of misery escaped his trembling body, and the effort eventually proved useless. After about five minutes of penetration, he began quietly crying, and then sobbing. She violated him with the bread for about fifteen minutes, before finally becoming bored of this action and pulling it out. It was covered now in shit and blood. She looked at him twitching on the floor, and smiled, seemingly satisfied.

He didn't know what she did with the loaf when she left the room. He didn't really want to know. She left him tied to the dresser and gagged tightly. He wanted so badly to curl into a ball and disappear, but he couldn't even move his body into that position.

He couldn't stop crying. As his lower body bled with a steady, quiet drip, his upper body convulsed with the release of shuddering sounds and salt water. Warm, helpless tears rolled down his cheeks and soaked into the ropes around his mouth. He sobbed, and the sobbing progressed into long, hysterical moans. His body felt cold with prolonged panic, and his mouth tasted like his stomach's attempt at bile. He became nothing but deep, shaky sobs for the rest of the night, without any ability to stop himself.


	8. Avoid The Cat

Okay, Chapter 8. Here we go. Yeahhhh. These are turning into a pretty cool writing exercise, actually.

* * *

She set him up in a chair in the middle of the floor one morning. He was, as per usual, tied to the chair. She drew a circle around the chair in chalk, with about a seven-foot diameter. She began setting up something behind him. He turned as well as he could so that he could see what it was.

It was some sort of small machine. Its appearance gave off the impression of bare-bones functionality. No decorations, no bother in smoothing out any edges. He wondered if she had put it together herself or purchased it from some factory.

She began to attach wires to his body. Some on his chest, some on his shoulders, some on his thighs. She unzipped his pants and reached for his dick. He didn't say anything, because at this point he was afraid to at all protest, and hardly saw a point. He remained silent until she began rubbing his shaft slowly.

"P-please don't," he said quietly.

"Oh, you don't like a hand job?"

He shook his head. _Not from you, anyway,_ he thought.

She didn't listen, and continued to rub. Against his will, his dick grew hard from the sensation. She stopped rubbing right before it became a full-on erection, and instead lifted his dick further and attached another electrode right on the skin between his dick and his ball sack. She then let go of his dick and let it do its own thing awkwardly, resting half-erect and slowly going down.

"Alright," she said. "All finished."

She left him alone for a few minutes, then came back with a large, plastic carrying cage, much like the one the turtle had arrived in, but the of right size to hold a medium-sized dog. He could hear soft mewing.

He shook his head. "No, no, no."

"Kittens!" she exclaimed, with joy.

He had his eyes shut tight. He didn't want to see them. "Please don't hurt them. Please don't hurt any more animals."

She smiled. "Don't worry; the kittens are safe." She opened the cage, and they slowly began crawling out. They looked like they were all from the same litter; all of them were some combination of orange and white.

Rain stepped over to the machine as Blue began to examine the chalk circle on the floor.

"The circle?" she said. "I dunno, I just thought I'd try something different. It's your boundary. No cats are allowed inside."

"O...okay."

Kittens began exploring the room, playing with each other, meowing softly. One of them began to stumble toward the circle and Blue's heart began to race. It stopped, looked around a bit, then stepped gingerly past the chalk line and into Blue's territory.

Rain proceeded to press a button on the machine. Blue heard the click, but didn't have any time to register what it was, because right as she pushed the button, waves of painful electric shocks pulsed through Blue's body. She only turned it on for a second, but it was enough to hurt, a lot. When his body was released from the current, he sunk down on the chair, panting hard and loudly. He swallowed once or twice, trying to regain himself. He straightened his body up in the chair after a few moments. The cat left the circle.

"Oh God," he said. He breathed in again and swallowed. He breathed out. "Oh God."

"Bro. Bro. But like, have you figured out the gimmick to this one?"

He looked over and shot a half-living glare in her direction. All this, and her personality still had to be fucking obnoxious.

He didn't have much more time to think on this, because yet another kitten wandered into the chalk circle. He heard the click once more. Electricity surged through his nervous system and everything hurt. This time he let out a short yelp. She kept this one going a bit longer—two seconds—and then she released the button. He sunk down again, his muscles easing, his forehead in a cold sweat. It took him slightly longer to sit back up in the chair.

About two minutes passed without any cats. He tried to prepare his body for next one, watching them carefully. A kitten almost stepped into the circle, but instead decided to turn around and play with another kitten's tail. They played for a couple of seconds, then fell over on each other's soft, roly-poly bodies. Another cat tried to join into the play fight, but fell sideways into the chalk circle.

She pressed the button. His body became super-charged with unneeded voltage, and all his muscles tensed up and froze, and he yelled out, and she turned it up. The electrodes burned everywhere they were touching his body. The thin skin between his penis and his testicles scorched. The pure physical agony clouded his vision in a very literal sense; his body forgot how to see in the midst of sensory overload. She kept it going for three Mississippi seconds, then shut it off once more. He collapsed against the chair and started wheezing out air in varying amounts.

Another cat, not a moment later, stepped into the circle. On went the electricity, and up went the power. The highest level yet. He began to let out shrieks of the kind that had never left his mouth before. First short, high-pitched ones, then longer, more full-bodied screams, the kind with all the teeth showing and all the throat hurting. Power off. Body relaxed. He began to whine and whimper to himself, his lower lip taking the same position as that of a young child who just lost a game. A kitten pounced on one of its sisters, and they both landed in the circle. Electricity on. High power. Perfect screaming for an eternity's worth of seconds.

Thirty minutes into this activity and he started to feel like he wasn't really in his body, just watching from above, but still feeling all the pain. Watching himself scream, but still feeling the screams in his throat. The screaming eventually turned to scream-crying. His body belted out beautiful sobs, with Rain and the kittens being the only audience.

Finally there came a point where she turned off the power, but even in the physical peace, he couldn't stop screaming. Even after she unhooked him and removed all the wires, he was still producing loud vocal reactions to the pain. She even undid the ropes from his hands, and he didn't even bother fighting her, and she knew that by now he wouldn't. He _couldn't._ He could see the opportunity, but he couldn't make himself. All he could do was fall to the ground and shake violently. He tried to control his arms, to grab her, but his arms weren't his. Once again he left his body, watched himself lie curled up on the floor among kittens, his body twitching, making noise. Nothing seemed to exist correctly. His presence of mind and body felt like a weird pinprick through cottony fog.


	9. I Got Your Back

Whoah, finished it. This is the longest one yet. Also, I saw I got two views this month, and it's only the second of October! Awesome!

* * *

It was only inevitable that he was to be drugged yet again.

He woke up in a forest, chained by the neck to a large tree. Rain was nowhere in sight. It took him a few moments to fully sober up, after which he completely realized where he was and began frantically looking for his captor. He didn't want her there, of course, but he preferred to know _where_ she was, surely. He waited several minutes for her to pop up out of her hiding place, then finally concluded that perhaps she was really off doing something else.

He realized he had an opportunity. Without wasting another minute, he walked around to the other side of the tree, dropped his pants, and took a shit by a bush. With how little she was actually feeding him per day, he had managed to only need to take two other shits in the entire few weeks he'd been held captive. The previous two had been done during rare times when he had not had too much rope around his hips, and they were both done in the corner of the basement, on the floor. This was not ideal; the smell was pungent. He also had nothing to wipe with, and he was starting to get a rather painful rash, but it couldn't really be avoided. The infrequency of these needs was perhaps the only positive part of being starved.

All that said, he had been starting to get rather backed-up, and this had been causing him a good deal of abdominal pain, so the alone time in the forest was quite welcomed. He took a piss, as well, and then even realized he had the fortune of being able to wipe with leaves. It hurt because of the rash, but it was significantly better than nothing. Fully relieved, he pulled up his pants and went and sat on the side of the tree where he had woken up, resting his head against the bark.

It was perhaps midday. He had not seen sunlight in weeks, and it was so bright it felt like filmed ambiance. He had not been going to a lot of forests as of late anyway, but seeing one now felt vividly unreal and he wondered if he was just having a big dream. Maybe a hallucination? He reached down and felt the dirt, and crumbled it between his fingers.

She showed up after an hour, with a backpack hanging off one shoulder. "Ahh," she said. "I see you're awake." She smiled. "I waited like three hours for the drugs to wear off, and you still didn't open your eyes. I thought maybe I'd accidentally killed you." She laughed a little. "Either way, I got bored, so I went and took a walk."

Out of nowhere, she hit him hard on the side of the head.

"What was that for?!" he said, after the initial surprise wore off.

"That was for being cute," she said. "You're so cute."

"Am I...?"

She pinched his cheek, which by now had healed from her bite, but was still a little sore from lingering infection. He squinted his eyes shut from the sting.

"You are the cutest little man I've ever seen," she said. "Your voice is cute, and the way you talk is cute. The way you sound when you're distressed. I've listened to you talk for years, and you've always gotten so distressed over everything. It's so cute. I love your shout when something goes wrong."

She let the backpack drop from her arm and knelt down to open it. She paused. "Does it smell like shit to you?"

He blushed. "No."

"I feel like I'm downwind of something."

"Weird."

"Speaking of shit, I cleaned all your shit out of my basement."

"Oh," he said, not making eye contact.

"You're welcome."

"Thanks."

"I used Lysol. Scented Lysol. A lot of scented Lysol."

"Okay, thanks! That's great!"

She giggled, because apparently this was cute, too. She pulled out a box.

"Turn around," she said.

"Why?"

"Turn and face the tree," she sang, to the tune of David Bowie's "Changes."

"But why, though?"

She grabbed hold of his neck and squeezed it tightly with both hands, completely shutting tight his airways so that he couldn't even make noise. After two seconds, a noise did come out, kind of like a kazoo sound. He tried to grab her arms, but he was too weak to successfully get them off of him. Keeping her left hand on his throat, she took her right hand and began inching it up toward his eyeball, making jokey walking fingers along his cheek. He squeezed his eyelids shut.

"Open your eye or I'll cut off one of your fingers," she said.

He opened his left eye.

She she moved her left hand up from his throat to his chin, and he gasped. "Hold perfectly still, and don't close your eye," she said, as he breathed in. She took one finger and placed it lightly against his bottom eyelid, pulled it down and rubbed the pink skin. His eye started watering, and he fought for the sake of his fingers to keep it open. She rubbed the inner skin of his eyelid for a few seconds, then moved her finger up and placed the tip of it against the surface of his eyeball. He breathed fast, shallow breaths, keeping extremely still.

"Remember," she said, "if you fight me, I'll do something horrible to you. Maybe cut off your dick, even. I'd at the very least slice it." She smiled and kept rubbing his eye white. A tear rolled down his cheek, partly from the sensation of someone touching his eye, and partly from keeping it open for so long without blinking. She smiled again. "That's, right, baby. Your face is so cute like this, all terrified. This is what I live for. Ever since, you know, college. Yeah, that's right. Make one move and I'll slice your dick right on the tip, real deep." He swallowed, hoping the action of swallowing didn't count as making one move. She rubbed his eye a little harder, and the eye white got reddish-pink from irritation, and he could feel the pressure of her finger and started to see stars. He whimpered slightly. She pushed a little harder, just a little, and he let out a slightly louder sound. It sounded almost like a pleasure moan, which must have excited her, because she put her finger against his cornea and pressed. He kept his eye open with all he could muster, but his tears were now dripping consistently down his face and he began to cry out in short bursts. It turned into staggered wailing.

After an eternity, she removed her finger from his eye. He immediately shut it and started rubbing it, then rubbed his whole face as some sort of unconscious act of self-comfort. "Don't question me again," she said. "Just face the tree." He didn't open his eyes again for a few moments, just stood and turned with his eyes closed and faced the tree.

For about fifteen minutes, she was silent, but he could hear small sounds that he couldn't define in his brain. Clicking? Clinking? She said nothing, and he said nothing, but he knew she was still behind him, from the small sounds. After a while he said, "What are you doing?"

She didn't answer, just kept making those little sounds. She stayed almost silent for another fifteen minutes. He placed his forehead against the bark of the tree and fiddled with his chain out of nerves. He turned to try to look at her and she said, "Yeah, go ahead and move your head; I'll play with your eye some more." He immediately moved his face back to the tree.

He stood there for an hour against the tree bark, both of them silent. He felt like he might begin to cry again from the suspense, which, with his lack of food and sleep, as well as his consistent sessions with Rain, was becoming increasingly frequent. He held it back, though, because he hated crying in front of her if he could help it. He knew she loved it. From holding back the tears, he started to shake. She had turned him into an emotional wreck in only a few weeks, and he hated her to hell for it.

Out of nowhere, she said, "Climb the tree."

This startled him out of his thoughts, and he said, "What? H-how?" He almost looked at her before remembering not to.

"You figure that out," she said. "Go ahead."

He looked at the tree, from bottom to top. He wasn't sure if he could reach the first branch. She must have been able to tell what he was thinking, because she said, "Better jump."

He attempted to jump to reach the first branch, but he couldn't quite get it. It occurred to him that he was chained to the tree, so he wasn't sure how far up he'd even be able to get, but the twin realization to this was that he could perhaps use the part of the chain tied to the tree as a foothold, as it stuck out just a little. He placed the ball of his foot against the chain and pushed up, then managed to grip the first branch.

He hung there for a second, then tried pushing up against the trunk of the tree with his feet. He slipped and fell back in the hanging position, and tried again. This was difficult.

As he was hanging from the branch and trying to just lift his feet up high enough despite his physical weakness, he felt something very sharp hit his back and stick there. He shouted out in startled pain and tried to look around to see what it was. He couldn't see it, but twisting around was making it hurt more. He reached down and grabbed it out of his skin. It was a little dart with a clear, hollow center, which was partially filled with some liquid.

"Wh...?"

"I won't tell you what's in it," she said. "But it won't kill you; don't worry."

He dropped the dart on the ground and continued trying to climb. Within a few moments, he began to feel a burning sensation where the dart had hit him. At first he chalked it up to pain from the prick, but as it became more intense and widespread, he realized it had to be the liquid.

"Feel it, yet?" she said.

"Yes," he muttered, finally getting a foot up on the branch. He managed to pull himself all the way up onto the branch and balance himself there, despite the pain. He accidentally looked her way and noticed she had a gun of some sort. She aimed it at him and shot another dart, which this time hit him in the belly.

He flinched and cried out again, and almost fell out of the tree. This second dose hit him a little harder, as the first one was already spreading. He felt a strange dizziness and a burn in his skin that reminded him of holding carbonated soda against one's tongue, only stronger. It was as though his veins were bubbling into stinging bits. He hoped that wasn't what was actually happening.

He turned around and tried to climb to the next branch, but it was difficult to focus on climbing with the burning sensation spreading wider and wider across his midsection. He managed to get to the second branch, which was considerably closer, and then stood on it. It lowered slightly under his body weight and he struggled to keep balance as he reached for the third one.

Now, she shot him a third time. He wasn't sure if it was punishment for something he was doing wrong, or if she was just doing it for no real reason. This shot landed in his right shoulder, and the sizzling juice soaked into his muscle and started to do its work. This one definitely hurt the most, and as he pulled the dart out of his skin he accidentally squeezed it and got the residual juice inside him. He got even more dizzy, and started to feel like he was going to fall. He sat down on the branch, trying to regain himself. Again, she shot him. This one landed right above his right hip. He pulled it out more carefully this time, but most of the juice was already in him.

He leaned against the tree, starting to lose his ability to think clearly. He felt numb in his mind, but the pain was increasing by the minute. It was making its way through his blood stream, and a steady burning, pulsing sensation was getting stronger and stronger in his skin and muscles. His muscles began to tense involuntarily in random places around his body, and it became harder to stay in the tree. He panted and his face grew cold and wet as he attempted to keep his balance, but it was getting too difficult, and finally he fell out of the tree and landed onto its roots, rolling into the grass.

On contact with the roots of the tree, the pain magnified and shot through his body, echoing and ricocheting against the insides of his skin. He groaned loudly as the sensation of millions of pin stabs filled his being. His body writhed on the ground as he became fully saturated in the hurting sensation. It kept building and building, never reaching a climax, obliterating his ability to process his other senses.

Rain walked up to him. She punched him in the stomach and he screamed like death. She punched him in the stomach again. His body contracted as though it was trying to give birth. She punched him one more time, and then pulled out a syringe, larger than any of the darts, and grabbed hold of his chin and held it in front of his face.

"Want this in your mouth?" she said, panting with excitement and the effort of holding his body down as he shook.

"No," he said. "Don't, don't."

She smiled. "Good," she said. And then she punched him in his stomach one more time so that he was filled with scorching stars, and she held down his pelvis and injected the whole needle right into his dick.

He wasn't sure if his penis started to bleed, or if it just felt like it was bleeding. Everything felt like everything was bleeding. He pushed air and sound out of his lungs but could barely hear it from the ringing in his ears. Before he knew it, he was standing up, began flailing and punching at the air. And in her hubris she stood too close, and he grabbed hold of her and pushed her to the ground and the attack began.

He hit her hard in the face, scratched at her skin, pummeled her into the forest floor, all the while screaming in pain. For a split second, his brain registered vision, and he saw and comprehended the look of fear in her eyes, and he thought to himself, "I want to murder this woman." He had nothing but his hands, and in his illogical state of agony he grabbed a large stick and attempted to stab it through her heart. This, of course, did not work; it only broke her skin at the surface. Still, she bled. He tossed the stick aside and took hold of her head and bashed it against the dirt, screaming and crying. He picked it up higher, hit the ground harder. He took a stone and attempted to bludgeon her skull and her body. His brain registered another image: tears in her eyes. He felt no need to have mercy.

When she escaped his grasp, she was covered in cuts and bruises, fortunate enough to lack a concussion but still bleeding from the back of the head. She stared at him, slightly impressed, now out of his reach, as he continued to wriggle violently on the ground like a partially squished worm. He was still in his prison of sensation, scratching at himself, trying to make himself bleed so that the poison would leave him faster. His brain function was minimal, and his consciousness was small, and his being was mostly a body, with mostly pain as an identity, thrashing against the ground with gusto. Another two minutes of this, and he lost consciousness altogether.

When he woke up, he was back in the basement, chained to the wall once more, and he was very sore. Much of the poison had worn off, but there was still a residual burning sensation in his muscles. He felt the slight urge to vomit, but he held it back. It was a few minutes before he remembered everything that had happened.

He had attacked her. He had fucking tried to kill her.

He didn't know how to feel. For a minute he was proud, but then shame flooded in, and only after that was he hit with the full realization of the meaning of _trying to murder._ He started to breathe faster, until he was lightheaded. Small whimpers escaped his mouth, and he sat up and put his head in his hands. He had tried to _murder a woman._ A _woman._ But, he thought, was it really murder if it was self-defense? What if she took him to the police? Would the court believe that it was self-defense? Would the court believe him if he told them she had taken him captive? Was it worse that he had attacked her, since she was a woman? Was it ever okay for a man to attack a woman?

He noticed that he was rocking back and forth like a madman, but he didn't stop, because he felt like if he stopped he would throw up.

Could he live with himself knowing he had tried to murder a woman?

He stopped rocking back and forth and instead fell against the cold wall, staring into space, letting the nausea set in. No one was there to see the look on his face, but it was one of the truest despair. He had often said to people during his lifetime that he was "in despair" over an ended relationship or too much work, but now, sitting in his chains in his captor's basement, haunted with fresh memories of having pushed a woman to the ground and beaten her head against the dirt, he felt an emotion so terrible, he had only experienced mere hints of it in previous nightmares.

This night, she had not chained him to the wall with short chains attached to his hips and down his legs. Instead, he wore long chains attached to his hands and middle. He quietly took a chain and wrapped it around his neck and pulled it tightly. He leaned out, and pushed his body away from the wall with his feet, trying to get as much pull as possible. The chain grew tighter around his neck and pinched his skin, and he began to lose his breath. He saw stars, and his body fought for air, but he knew better, and he continued to pull.

However, when he lost consciousness and fell against the floor, the chains relaxed ever so slightly and just enough air made it to his lungs to trap him in his life.


End file.
